


The End Of All Things

by dean_n_pie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bombs, Death, M/M, Not A Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 08:00:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1117456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dean_n_pie/pseuds/dean_n_pie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean thought there was always a way out. Not this time</p>
            </blockquote>





	The End Of All Things

**Author's Note:**

> kinda based on Sherlock 3.01, different ending, different bomb. i'd written it beforehand but then the ep came out and this was easier to write. I recommend listening to either "Say Something" by Great Big Nothing or "The Freshman" by Jay Brannan as you read this, its what i listened to while writing.

“Shit!” Dean kicked out at the metal door, bringing his clenched fist up to pound on the wall. He pulled at the knob once more, cursing under his breath when it didn’t give. The door was soldered shut from the outside, done by some demon in the warehouse before they could get out. He backed up and ran at the door, shoulder connecting and giving off a loud thump. The door stayed shut, stubbornly refusing to move. “Son of a-“

"Dean, you need to come look at this." Castiel’s voice drifted over from the center area of the warehouse, cutting through Dean’s rage. Dean stalked over to where Castiel stood, fingers outstretched, inspecting a strange altar set up in the middle of the room.

"What?" he grunted out, stooping to look closer at the altar. Castiel’s hands gripped the edge of his jacket, stopping him from moving closer. Dean tried to shake him off in vain, and gave the altar a once-over. It was a small table, only about 3 feet across and 4 feet wide, with a strange assortment of herbs and bones laid out along the top. There was a sigil drawn in what seemed to be blood along the top of the altar, a seemingly disconnected star with hard-to-read runes stretched in the spaces between the lines.

Dean looked up at Castiel, who, instead of observing the altar along with Dean, was looking straight in front of him at nothing, fingers running up and down an imaginary tether. His head cocked to the side, Castiel pulled his hand back as if he had been shocked. Dean stood up laboriously, tapping Castiel on the shoulder to get his attention. His eyes flicked to Deans, unfocused, before settling back on the space before them.

"Cas? Buddy, you okay?" he asked, setting his palm on Castiel’s arm. Castiel didn’t respond, but his arm twitched as Dean’s made contact with it, fingers clenching up into a fist. "Cas?"

Castiel forcefully tore his eyes away from the invisible whatevers, and unconsciously leaned closer to Dean. His eyes were panicked, blue and alive. They darted from side to side, as though expecting something to jump out of the darkness at them. The only light available in the warehouse came from the skyward window, admitting a shaft of light that came down directly onto the altar.

"Cas, talk to me."

Castiel took in a deep breath, standing up straight and locking gazes with Dean. His hands motioned toward the altar and the open space above it as he spoke in a gravelly voice, trembling not in the slightest.

"Dean, I have only seen this type of ritual in books before, or in the minds of prisoners-of-war, demons more ancient than the Earth itself. This is a very old ritual, not one that would be attempted lightly. It’s dangerous - preparing it could just as likely kill the demon doing it as it could be successful. It’s reactive, the barest change could -"

"Cut to the chase sometime today, Cas."

"It’s, essentially… a bomb."

Dean’s mind stuttered to a stop. “Sorry, what? A bomb?” He stepped over to the altar, trying to recognize the writing on the top. “How do you know?”

"The writing on the table is old Enochian, it hasn’t been used in centuries. It’s a spell - normally used in old punishments, ones where nothing can be left behind. The runes on the table are those that pertain to absolute and utter devastation, complete destruction."

Dean closed his eyes, pinching the top of his nose. There was no way to rub out the symbols, not in a ritual as old and powerful as this. Even he knew that. Say what you will, Dean wasn’t a complete imbecile.

He indicated the space in front of Castiel and asked, “So what the hell has you so hot-and-bothered over here?”

Castiel shot him a dark glare before turning back to the space above the altar. “Tethers.”

"Tethers? Like, strings that keep things in place?"

"Of a fashion."

"Hmm. Well, care to explain, Spock?"

Castiel reached a hand out, pausing in between strokes of what had to be ropes only he can see. “They’re all connected to the altar, but I don’t - I can’t see the end connection. They just - they keep going.”

Dean pursed his lips, nodding his head. “Fascinating. So, wanna actually say what they fucking do, now?”

Castiel sighed, glancing at Dean out of the corner of his eye. “Think of this” - he pointed at the altar - “as the home command, so to speak. The mother-chip. When this is activated correctly, the commands travel along” - he swept his hands through the air, dancing between lines and caressing the shapes - “these lines here, which, if I’m not mistaken, eventually lead to” - at this, he pointed upward at the ceiling, slowly waving his hand around - “other charges designed to give nothing a chance of escaping.”

Dean’s mind raced, trying to make sense out of the technobabble Castiel had given him to sift through. He glanced upward toward where the ‘charges’ must be, and then glanced back to the altar. What he had originally assumed to be a haphazard layout of herbs and bones was actually a pattern, similar to feng shui. All the herbs of one type were at the northern and western corner of the diagram, while the bones were arranged into shapes at the southern and eastern corners. He shook his head, trying to force his mind to understand.

"So the altar is like what? The trigger?"

"Yes."

"And these strings you see… they’re what? Fuses? Leading up to the actual charges themselves?"

"Yes."

Dean rubbed a hand over his face, mouth dry. “Fuck.”

Castiel grinned slightly, a sardonic twist of the mouth. He sat back on the floor on his knees, leaning in toward the altar and reaching a hand out. Dean walked around to the other side, glancing around him and trying to catch the lines in a light flare. He looked up into the darkness of the warehouse, imagining charges sitting there, waiting to go off and rain debris down around their heads.

Castiel hissed, recoiling from the altar. “There’s a protective force around it. I can’t get through to defuse it, and even if I could, there’s no guarantee that I’d do it correctly. I could just doom us sooner.”

"Right, Mr. Optimistic. So I guess my next questions are: One, how the hell does someone set this off from a distance, and two, how the fuck are we gonna get out of here?" Dean says, crouching down across from Castiel and meeting his eyes over the altar.

"I don’t know."

"Wait, you don’t know? You’re a friggin’ celestial being who’s eons old, how could you not know? There isn’t some remote that sets it off with the click of a button?"

"It’s a spell, Dean," Castiel said, irritated. His lip curled, imitating a snarl. "It can’t be activated by some remote, there has to be some sort of ritualistic passage spoken. Old Enochian, most likely - then the herbs and bones will burn away and the blast will occur."

"Well, sorry for trying to help. Remind me not to next time," Dean said sarcastically. He scratched the back of his neck and made his was over to the soldered door again. It was sealed shut, no crack showing. His head came up, brain snagging on an idea. Long shot, but it might work.

Walking over to where Castiel stood, he bent down and tapped him on the back. “Is there a name for this magical bomb?”

"Not that I know of, no. Maybe if I thought back far enough I would be able to say."

"Well, start thinking, Einstein. Sam’s on a case in Little Rock with Jo, but maybe he can take some time to research this." Dean pulled out his cell phone, cursing in frustration when it displayed a lack of connection. "I can’t reach him. Shit. We’re on our own." He ran a hand through his hair. "At least it’s not live - gives us time to figure it out."

As if on cue, the altar lit up, dark red markings becoming an eerie blue, shining up to the ceiling. “What the fuck is happening? Cas?”

Castiel was staring at the invisible fuses again, eyes wide and startled. His head tilted to the side and his hands jerked, but made no motion to reach out. There was a faint shimmering quality to the air, and Dean glanced around, confused. Castiel still didn’t answer him. He grabbed the trenchcoat, shaking Castiel, and repeated his question. “What the hell is happening?”

A stream of Enochian came from Castiel, and his eyes flared with a light the same shade of blue as the markings. He blinked slowly, and the flashes of light ebbed. Head turning toward Dean as though being pulled from a trance, he gestured toward the altar. “They’ve activated it. Somehow. The bomb is live.”

"What? I thought you said they couldn’t do that?" Dean yelled, throwing his arm to the side. Castiel’s body turned toward Dean, eyes sharp.

"I didn’t think they could!" he snapped. "I don’t understand, how could they - none of this makes sense…" He trailed off, hands pressed to his forehead, fingers tugging on his hair. "The bomb will go off and we can’t stop it, not without risking setting it off ourselves."

"So, what? It’s gonna explode anyway? Without us doing anything?"

"Yes."

"Fuck that, we’re getting out of here." Dean stormed over to the door, eyes searching out any weakness.

"How?"

"I don’t know!" Dean yelled, aiming a kick at the door. Castiel watched him, infinite sadness in his eyes.

"Don’t just stand there, asshole, help!"

"Dean…" Castiel reached forward and pulled Dean away from the door, holding tightly onto his arm. "We’re stuck."

"No, we’re fucking not, and I refuse to accept that. There’s always a way."

Castiel shook his head, dropping Dean’s arm. “Not this time.”

"Don’t you dare give up, Cas, not now."

Castiel slumped sideways, back against the wall, looking defeated and broken. “I’m sorry.”

"You’re sorry? That’s it? Cas, I swear to God, if you don’t come over here and stop fucking -"

"If I had my Grace, maybe I would be of more use to you. I’m so, so sorry, Dean," Cas said, voice trembling. He slid down the wall, head tilted back, and looked up at Dean. There were the beginnings of tears in his eyes, and his hands were sitting limply against the dirty warehouse floor.

Dean crouched in front of him, reaching out and grabbing Castiel’s face between his palms. “Listen to me. I do not blame you for this. It’s the demon that fucking locked us in here, he’s to blame. And probably Abaddon. But. Not. You.”

Castiel refused to meet Dean’s eyes.

"Dammit, Cas - I haven’t blamed you for any of the crap that’s happened since the angels fell. I’m not blaming you, so why are you blaming yourself?"

"Because this time I can’t save you."

Dean stuttered to a halt, running the words over in his mind. His hands fell and he glanced at the top of Castiel’s head, before shoving away all emotion and gripping Castiel’s chin in his hand.

"I’m not a damsel in distress. You don’t have to be the one to save me. Cas, fucking - I got myself into this mess just as much as you did, and blaming yourself isn’t gonna help us find a way out of this crap."

Castiel looked into Dean’s eyes, and the pain there was staggering. But his posture stiffened and he rose, pulling Dean up with him. “What do you need.”

"Scope the place out, any weaknesses or hollowness is a good bet. A door or a window would be better."

They both started at the door and worked their way around the room, meeting at the opposite side with no results. Dean swore, punching the wall with a fist. Castiel flinched.

The altar in the room glowed bright, drawing Dean and Castiel’s gazes toward it. It was hard to look away. Dean tore his glance away and looked at Castiel. With the way the light framed his face, he almost looked like an angel again, glowing from the inside with the brightness of his Grace. He swallowed, eyes returning to the now-dimmed altar. Castiel’s eyes hadn't yet left the sight. In unspoken agreement they walked across the room back to the door, Dean casting a glance at the altar as they went. Almost all the herbs and bones had burned away; it was only a matter of time before the bomb went off.

He thought about Sam, fighting a Black Dog outbreak down in Little Rock with Jo. How was he gonna react when Dean doesn't check in in a couple days? More than that, how was he gonna try and find them? There will no trace; not if this bomb is as destructive as Castiel says it is. There won’t be anything of him left. He can feel the tears of anger and frustration building up behind his lids, and kept his gaze on the back of Castiel’s trenchcoat to distract him.

Dean felt the fight leave him when he saw Castiel’s bowed shoulders.

They both collapsed against the wall, mere inches between them, and watched the altar sitting in the center of the room. Not a word was spoken. Castiel’s hand reached out and grabbed Dean’s, who squeezed back tightly. It was like being back in Purgatory all over again, sitting against a tree with Castiel and taking turns keeping watch, touching for some level of comfort in a land of desolation.

"Dean…"

He turned his head, meeting Castiel’s watery gaze. “Yeah?” His voice came out rough.

"I’m so sorry."

"Cas, don’t -"

"Not for this. For - for everything. Letting the leviathans in, not helping you stop Sam from starting the apocalypse, for not finding you in Hell fast enough… For not listening to you."

"Cas-"

"No, please, just - just listen. We’re going to die soon, let me talk. Okay?"

"Okay."

Castiel smiled slightly, looking at Dean. “Thank you. For being there for me. For being my friend.” There was a pause. “If there was anyone I had to spent my last moments with, I’m glad it was you.”

Dean tried to swallow around the lump in his throat, and couldn't. He didn't dare take his gaze away from Castiel. Instead, he pulled on his hand, and Castiel moved closer, body resting along Dean’s. Castiel turned away slightly, watching the altar with a resigned expression on his face. Dean turned toward the ceiling, trying in vain to fight the tears that had begun coursing down his face. He could see the tear marks on Castiel’s face too.

"Cas?"

"Yes?"

"I think - if we’d had more time - if things were different…" He trailed off, glancing over to Castiel, who had pulled away from the altar and was watching Dean with wet eyes. "I think we coulda been something."

Castiel tried to muster up a smile, but it came out looking more like a grimace. Dean pushed closer to Castiel, touching their lips together softly for the first time. He pulled away, instead pressing their foreheads together and closing his eyes, hand still entwined with Castiel’s.

He heard a soft gasp and felt Castiel’s breath buffet against his mouth, feeling Castiel’s hand as it settled behind his neck and guided him into a chaste kiss. It was too much and not enough at the same time, and Dean was the one to pull away again, aware that their impending death was only minutes away.

Dean felt wet tears dripped onto their held hands, and he fought hard to stop himself from completely losing it. He thought about Sam, about Ellen, about Jo, Bobby, Kevin, his dad, his mom… and about Castiel. About what they could have had. He pressed his forehead to Castiel’s once more and closed his eyes again; the world around him fell away and he was left with the feel of Castiel around him, foreheads touching and hands held tight. There was no bomb, no pain, no fight - just him and Castiel, as they always have been, reluctant to let go of one another.

A blue light came through Dean’s tightly closed eyes, and he felt Castiel stiffen beside him. He gripped Castiel’s hand tight and whispered, “I love you”, and Castiel said it back in a shaky tone, happy and eternally regretful.

The light reached the peak of its intensity and Dean risked opening his eyes, finding Castiel staring back.

And then their world ripped apart.


End file.
